


Ace of Spades

by slightlyrebelliouswriter



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Barrel King, Bastard of the Barrel, Captain Ghafa, Dirtyhands - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Grishaverse, Kerch, Ketterdam, M/M, Slaughterer of Slavers, The Dregs - Freeform, The Wraith - Freeform, Vengeance of the Sea, pirate inej
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyrebelliouswriter/pseuds/slightlyrebelliouswriter
Summary: Two years since the events of Crooked Kingdom, the Crows are back and better than ever (or barely holding themselves together) in a swashbuckling hunt across oceans that leads them to legendary catacombs, a secret society, creatures of myth and whimsy, and- if everything goes as planned- a long lost treasure.
Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa
Comments: 26
Kudos: 78





	1. Whiskey in a Teacup

**Author's Note:**

> So happy to finally be posting this Six of Crows multichapter fic for the Grishaverse Big Bang!

Seventeen months. It’d been seventeen months since Kaz Brekker watched _The Wraith_ set sail.

He’d watched her go. Stood on the docks as the sun painted the horizon a brilliant smear of papaya, then a blush of lilac and rose, to a bruised star-speckled blue. He’d watched that far-off, distant thing that was once a ship and so much more, as it faded to a small smudge in the crease between sea and sky.

Then he’d taken the long way back to the Slat.

After that, it was business as usual. There was work to be done. In seventeen months he’d built an empire in this wretched, glorious town. Though, it had really been more like eight.

The other nine months he’d spent spending—he was positively swimming in _kruge_. Half the time he didn’t know what to do with all of it. There was no way to spend that kind of money responsibly.

“So spend it _irresponsibly_ ,” Jesper had suggested. “You’re the newly crowned King of the Barrel. These are your days of golden enthronement.”

And it had been fun for a while—being the big gang boss of the Barrel, owner of nearly every successful gambling den in Ketterdam, raking in the _kruge_ every night and never worrying because there would always be more.

Kaz couldn’t help but notice that lately, however, most of his time was consumed by the golden contents of a bottle—and that conceivably, the closest thing he had to a golden throne these days was the aureate tub he now slumped in.

Alas, all newness went stale eventually. As it happened, Kaz Brekker was bored out of his mind.

And his bath was going cold.

With a toe, he spun one of the faucet nozzles. A steady stream of hot water flowed into the tub with a hiss. He sank back, submerging his shoulders under the water’s rosy surface.

He was the kind of bored that made shooting himself in the kneecap seem appealing, if only for the purpose of forcing something interesting out of what had become a very mundane procession of days. The kind of bored that even baths and bubbles and teacups full of whiskey could not fix.

Kaz swirled the finger of amber liquid at the bottom of his cup. It sloshed up onto the porcelain sides and he thought about how much the colour resembled her eyes in a shaft of sunlight.

Then he shook his head. _Ludicrous. Categorically asinine._

Here he was, Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel made Barrel Boss, a veritable King of Ketterdam; and he was sketching metaphors in his head for the colour of a girl’s eyes. A girl who was long gone, and indefinitely so.

Be all this as it may, he was also neck-deep in drink and pastel bubbles, so perhaps that was about right.

 _Not just any girl,_ he reminded himself, taking another sip of his drink.

She’d assured him she’d come back. And though he knew she would in due course, he had insisted she take all the time she needed to right what had been so very wrong for such a long time.

“Make them fear your name so much they daren’t even whisper it,” he’d told her before she left. “Make them pay, Inej.”

From what he’d heard, she’d lived up to that. Surpassed it, even. Slaughterer of Slavers, they called her. Vengeance of the Sea. What he would have paid to watch her burn their ships to ashes.

Kaz smiled at his teacup.

He looked to the night sky through the wavy glass of the window beside him, raised his makeshift glass to the distorted moon perched on the city skyline, and knocked back the remainder of his drink.

It was funny. He swore he felt the whisper of her presence on the wind with that burning swig. He loosed a chuckle. He was either imagining things or he was much drunker than he thought he was.

For Kaz had not felt the familiar rise of gooseflesh on the back of his neck—usually the first indicator of his Wraith’s presence—in a long while. And as he was most certain he’d be the first to hear of a particular ship making port in the harbour, he doubted it was anything but the ghost of a memory.

Yet, the tingle skittering across his scalp, the keen alertness pricking his senses to life, continued to be the most real thing in that tub.

 _Definitely drunk,_ Kaz thought and poured himself another knuckle of whiskey.

The bottle on the service cart next to the bath was old—one he’d been saving for a special occasion. He supposed tonight was just as special as any. In fact, the past four nights had been. He’d made his way through half the bottle, toasting the moon and the stars and whatever else lay around the bathroom as he sat in the tub every evening. They were all the same these days, either way.

“What shall we toast to?” Kaz mumbled to the cloud of pink bubbles eddying near his chest. He swirled the whiskey in his teacup.

Perhaps he should toast the pistol lying next to the half-empty bottle. It was the only promise of excitement in the room.

The breeze felt nice. A cool lick of air over the slowly heating bath—

Kaz looked up. _Air from where?_

He was sure he’d shut the windows in the adjoining bedroom. Suddenly, his stupor washed away like water down the drain. He glanced at the pistol again, debating whether to get out of the tub and investigate or if he could risk waiting for his assailant in the warm cocoon of water.

“I’d say to the pursuit of _kruge_ ,” a silky voice murmured from behind him. “But it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

His heart stopped. He didn’t know whether he’d pass out or vomit, but either one might be likely considering the haze of whiskey he struggled to clear from his mind.

He turned to face the source of that familiar voice.

There, perched on the edge of the granite sink top like she’d been there all this time, was someone he hadn’t seen in seventeen months. Kaz couldn’t help the slow smile that crept across his face.

“Hello, Inej,” he drawled.

“Hello, Kaz,” she said.

He could have sworn the whole world shimmered when she smiled at him, though he wasn’t entirely certain she was truly here. He could have very well fallen asleep in the bathtub, and he would be none the wiser. Yes, this was all likely a drunken fever dream. His dreams _did_ tend to torment him sometimes.

Nonetheless, he raised a brow and said, “Fancy meeting you here. In my bathroom. While I’m… bathing.”

If she blushed, Kaz could not see it in the golden glow of the bathroom lights. Perhaps the long months of travel and hard battle on the high seas had hardened her to such taunting that would have before made her cheeks stain red like a handful of pomegranate seeds.

In fact, he’d be shocked if she’d come back without a single jagged edge, though he couldn’t tell if that was the reason she held his gaze now, or the fact that he hadn’t delivered the line as smoothly as he would’ve liked. He couldn’t muster up enough wherewithal to care at the moment. Bubbles were really quite fascinating.

The corner of her mouth tilted up. “You were taking too long.”

“I like to soak.”

“I can see that.” Laughter gleamed in her eyes. _Those_ eyes. And suddenly he did not care if this was a cruel figment of his imagination. He’d gladly play along.

Inej eyed the water. “Bubbles?” she asked with a bemused expression.

Kaz shrugged. “One of the more exciting facets of my life these days.”

“Things slow at the Crow Club then?”

“Slow at the Crow Club, slow with the Dregs.” He dipped his index finger in the mass of bubbles and came out with a small dollop which he blew into the air. They floated down like tiny, iridescent snowflakes. “Turns out, when everyone fears crossing you, nothing interesting ever happens.”

“One would think you’d be happy about that,” she said.

Kaz merely hummed noncommittally. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “One would think.”

“You’re not, though.”

He gave her a long look. “Would _you_ be?”

“I’d be happy if I never had to worry,” she said, then knitted her brows. “Is the water _pink?_ ”

He smiled lazily. “Courtesy of Jesper. He took up a hobby.”

“Making bath products?”

Kaz nodded. “Soaps, bath fizzers, liquid bubbles, that sort of thing. The Dregs of the Bath, he called it. A business venture. It… did not end well.”

The corners of Inej’s mouth curled, eyes glittering mirthful delight—as if every possible consequence of Jesper and a hoard of perfumes and dyes reeled before her eyes in a resplendent carousel of disastrous hilarity.

This made Kaz very dizzy. Which was ridiculous, of course. It was _her_ carousel. He sat up straighter and decided to stare very hard at a spot on the mirror beside her head.

“What happened?” Inej asked, and Kaz realised he had not offered her an explanation to his ominous statement.

The Dregs of the Bath had actually been a fairly successful business venture for a time. Jesper was good at dreaming up fantastical innovations and scent combinations so wondrous, it surprised Kaz for how much he didn’t mind them. For all of about three weeks, his friend had certainly given even the more established toiletry retailers of Ketterdam a run for their money.

The side effects of production, however…

Kaz remembered the way Jesper had shown up to the Crow Club for nearly a month sporting dark splotches of dye up to his elbows. He’d thought it amusing at first.

Half of the Dregs were covered head to toe in ink anyway, and Kaz didn’t enforce a dress code. Frankly, he didn’t care what any of the Dregs looked like as long as they did their jobs. That is, until the patrons had started whispering something about a plague.

Then, of course, Kaz had immediately grabbed Jesper by the back of his suspenders and hauled him to the nearest sink in the kitchens.

“It won’t come off,” Jesper had groused, scrubbing furiously at his forearms.

“Then I would recommend gloves,” he’d said dryly to his friend. “They make for quite the statement piece. I can loan you a pair.”

Once the dye had all but faded, there was still the matter of the smell, which wasn’t exactly bad so much as it was a little overwhelming. The problem with making your own scented bath products, it seemed, was that the aromas clung to every perceivable surface, and spread like an autumn breeze through a dale.

This was fine when Jesper had only been making one inoffensive citrus-scented bar soap. He’d smelled like a fruit basket for days, and made the entire club give off the impression that it was immaculately clean when Kaz knew it was surely not.

But one innocent fragrance had quickly become a cloud of five, and then an assault of ten.

Soon, every dweller from the Financial District to the Barrel had learned that if you could smell the aromas of the Van Eck manor (which had more than once been mistaken for a perfumery by tourists in those sundry weeks), it was already too late. You, too, would be wrapped in the cloying fragrance cocoon of a fruit basket inside a florist inside a bakery inside a tannery in the heart of a very dense forest.

Kaz had not mentioned it to Jesper, however; and one day, the smell had simply vanished. Jesper, in turn, had not mentioned anything to Kaz. They’d been seeing less and less of each other lately.

He supposed that was just how things went. Jesper had Wylan, and Wylan made his friend very happy. He couldn’t complain about that.

Besides, Kaz had… well, he had lots and lots of baths. And whiskey. And more _kruge_ than he could ever possibly need. And…

A breeze floated in through the open window in the bedroom.

Kaz looked at Inej. There was a small part of him that still doubted her really being here. But then, the draft blew a lock of her crow dark hair loose from its braid—and when it fluttered a caress against her cheek, Kaz knew.

He might be skilled at plotting impossible schemes, but his imagination was not so creative and vivid as this. Especially not half-seas over.

Inej still sat on the countertop, reclined against the mirror, feet dangling over the edge. She eyed him in amusement. Probably mild concern, too, though he couldn’t focus through the steam and his whiskey muddled mind enough to tell.

“He got bored,” Kaz finally said with a shrug. “Moved on to something else. Made his own ale for a while. Regardless, there’s a closet full of bath fizzers of every smell and colour at the Van Eck manor, should you desire spicing up your bath experience.”

Inej laughed. _That_ laugh. And Kaz’s eyes went wide and sober for five whole seconds before the glaze of alcohol and warm water slipped back over his senses.

He leaned back in the tub again. A wave of water sloshed over the side, hitting the tile floor with a splash.

“I think I’ll stick to regular baths for the time being,” she said.

At that, Kaz could think of no response. So he said nothing, but hummed and sank down further into the water.

“Why are you here, Wraith?” he asked when a moment had passed.

Inej’s eyes glinted something mischievous. “I have a proposal.”

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! And a massive thank you to The Serrated Spades, the talented team of creators, editors, and beta readers who’ve been working with me these past few months to create something really special for The Grishaverse Big Bang! Their art, edits, and mood boards can be viewed on Tumblr.
> 
> I am slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Tumblr if you want to check out more work from myself and the team. 
> 
> More chapters to come soon!


	2. A Smiteable Offence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inej Ghafa, most certainly not a tomato, endures the drunken Barrel King’s witticisms and the Kaz Brekker equivalent of a lacy negligee. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more Kanej fluff for you because I'm self-indulgent af.

There was not much Inej Ghafa wouldn’t have done to have been able to frame a portrait of his expression in that very moment. 

She was used to seeing Kaz’s scheming face. In fact, they’d once made a game out of spotting it, all those months ago. Her heart still ached for those memories, and the people she’d had to leave behind. 

But the expression Kaz wore was nothing at all like his scheming face. 

_I have a proposal_ , she’d said. 

And for the first time in all the years she’d known him, Kaz Brekker had looked truly flummoxed. As if he was trying to puzzle out what it was before she told him. 

The opposite of his scheming face, in every respect.

Inej imagined it was the expression he was so used to seeing reflected on the faces of others while he plotted. A little thrill ran through her. That _she_ had been the one to draw that expression on _his_ face was a feat worthy of endless bragging rights. 

But Inej had promptly schooled her features into cruel amusement—a mask she’d perfected during her time on the high seas, when there was no other option than to remain either cruel or amused or some mad combination of both. 

Then, Inej had ordered Kaz out of the bath.

“Why?” he’d groused. “I can hear you just fine from amongst the bubbles, Inej dear.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Inej had said. “However, I think Ghezen might just smite us both for discussing matters of business in such an unbusinesslike setting.”

He’d given her an incredulous look, his eyes like pools of spilt ink, and she’d thought of lemons and elephants and vomiting over the side of her ship to keep herself from blushing. 

Kaz had held her gaze from under sable lashes, his head wreathed in clouds of pink bubbles. “So this is for Ghezen’s sake,” he’d said, words slurred by the effects of alcohol and a disbelieving tone.

She’d shrugged. “And yours. Unless you like the idea of being smitten by the gods.”

“You don’t believe in Ghezen, Wraith.”

“Ah, but Ketterdam believes in Ghezen,” she’d said, sage and sober as a scholar. “And we are in Ketterdam, are we not? Best respect the gods of the land, Kaz.”

At that, Kaz had only sunk further into the bubbles, mumbling something about her saints. 

“I’m nothing if not pious,” she’d said sweetly, and slid with graceful ease off the counter. 

This bathroom, Inej had decided, was much too small, much too hot for bubbles and verbal sparring and Kaz Brekker. With everything save for his nose and eyes below the water’s rosy surface, she’d felt him tracking her movements towards the door.

“I’ll be waiting,” she’d thrown over her shoulder as she sauntered into the adjoining room and silently let out a held breath.

Now, Inej was staring at a soot stain in the carpet while Kaz dressed in the bathroom. He had left the door ajar, and she could hear the sounds of water slowly circling the drain, the lazy donning of dry clothes. Steam and a bouquet of wildflowers wafted through the open door.

“I hope your dressing process is not as indulgent as your bathing process,” she quipped from her perch on the cherrywood dresser. She hadn’t dared to sit on the bed for… more than a few obvious reasons.

The top of Kaz’s dresser functioned as a second desk of sorts. It was covered in stacks of parchment and books, ink bottles and silver pens and loose nibs. But Kaz had managed to carefully organise the assortment of bits and bobs into something that was not chaos. Inej expected nothing less from him. 

Besides, she thought, it made it easier for her to find a space amongst the official documents and other business accoutrements. 

She picked up a wooden block that looked like a game and a puzzle wrapped in one from atop a perfect stack of papers. 

She could imagine Kaz sat here, at his desk, fiddling with the puzzle block while scheming to keep his hands busy, making a delightful myriad of concentrated faces. Or late at night when he couldn’t sleep—

Inej placed the cube back down. A dangerous spiral, her thoughts.

“You’ll forgive me for doing a certain amount of primping,” Kaz drawled, his gravelly voice smoothed over by remnants of whiskey, echoing off the tiles of the bathroom. “I was threatened with a brutal smiting.”

“You don’t have to do any primping,” Inej snorted. “I didn’t drag any of the Dregs up here. It’s just me.” 

“No,” he said. “It is you and _Ghezen_.” He poked his head into the bedroom. “Arguably the two most deific figures of my decidedly immoral life.” Kaz gave her a languorous smile, and all the saints damn her for noticing he had yet to put on a shirt.

For a fraction of a moment, Inej’s eyes went wide. Then she remembered herself and thought of cabbages (which she’d survived off of for months and despised with every bone in her body) and the way Nina had looked the last time she saw her.

 _There._ Now she most certainly was not blushing. She hoped.

“So you see,” Kaz said, “I must comb my hair.” And with that, he disappeared into the steam of the bathroom once more. 

Perhaps, she thought, as anxious as she was to begin, allowing Kaz some time to sober up a bit before discussing such serious matters might not be such a bad thing. Especially since drunk Kaz seemed to have a penchant for uncharacteristic joviality and exchanging witticisms that made her susceptible to turning pink.

Inej swiped away the thought and stared hard at the baroque rug. 

Kaz had attempted to cover the soot stain with a lamp, and the sight of it made that small ache in her chest bloom again. 

A carpet, which had not been here the last time Inej was in this room, and was likely just as expensive as it was new. A soot stain, the sign of a story she had not been told, had not been there to witness. 

Both things, signs of life ebbing and flowing around her like the tides.

Inej saw life in the little things, the small and insignificant changes made while she’d been away. There were so many—and they were all reminders of just how much she’d missed.

Of course, she’d been busy, too. Enormously so. 

She had followed her heart’s desires. Captained a ship of ruthless female pirates and warriors, traversed the True Sea, tracking down slavers and bringing them to their watery demises. 

She had made a name for herself. A name that was hers and only hers. 

Inej Ghafa, Slaughterer of Slavers.

It had a nice ring to it.

None of what she had accomplished was negligible in the slightest. She was proud of the work that had been done by herself and her crew. 

Even still, this ache nudged her every now and again. 

Inej couldn’t help but feel that while she’d been following her heart out to the stormy seas of great and honourable deeds, life and all of its soot stains and stories and small things had swirled around her, passing her by, leaving her stuck in the eddies.

She had missed this place dearly. Grown up in these alleyways and canals. Despite the misfortunes that brought her to Ketterdam, or perhaps born of them, she had spread roots here. 

It wasn’t until she was pulled away by the ever-changing, ever-competing currents of decisions and fate, that Inej realised just how deep those roots had grown.

It was something like longing, this ache. A longing which felt every bit as much like what she’d felt a lifetime ago when she’d been desperate to find her family again. 

Before Kaz had found them, and brought them to her.

And then she’d left. And done so much good. And had missed so many small things.

Inej shook her head, scattering her thoughts like light across the waves. 

“I doubt Ghezen would smite you for not combing your hair,” she grumbled at Kaz to distract herself.

“Patience, Inej,” Kaz said. “Is a virtue.”

“Of which I have many,” she retorted, and she swore she heard his answering smile through the walls.

“Undeniably. But uncombed hair to a business meeting?” he hummed. “The impropriety of such things.”

With Kaz safely in the other room, Inej allowed the creep of heat like poison ivy to crawl up her neck. Which was ridiculous. And which she immediately shoved down when the bathroom door swung open in full.

_Termites and restaurant leavings and bloody ship decks._

He was not wearing a shirt. _Still._

To her great horror, Inej realised what he _was_ wearing: pyjamas. _Black satin_ pyjama bottoms, which she figured must have been the Kaz Brekker equivalent of a lacy negligee. 

She would be utterly vexed with him if she was not so wholly concentrated on not turning into a tomato. 

He was all moon pale and shadowed night. Inej managed to spread a smooth smile across her face like sickly sweet jam, if only to spite him.

“As the most deific and pious person in this room,” she said as she appraised his outfit (or shameless lack thereof) with a carefully unbothered eye. “I should tell you that out of all of Ghezen’s smiteable offences, not wearing a shirt to a business meeting is a great deal higher on the list than forgetting to comb your hair.”

Kaz’s grin was a slashing scythe as he started across the room—towards the dresser, she realised. Towards Inej herself. 

Her heart leapt. She did not dare breathe. Didn’t think she could, even if she wanted to.

He was a hand’s breadth away when he stopped before her, his bare torso so close to her legs dangling over the side of the dresser that she could feel the heat from him as if he’d brought the bath to her. 

“I’m starting to think,” he murmured, “Ghezen is more goat than god where this conversation is concerned.” Amusement percolated his tone, a drip of black coffee.

Her heart stumbled, but Inej merely eyed him with the sort of authority she would invoke if he were a rowdy member of her crew.

“What are you doing, Kaz?” she asked him. She knew it’d been a good long while since she’d seen him, but she did not think for a second that his traumas no longer ailed him. 

Inej knew this because regardless of the passage of time, her own traumas still sat right under her skin, still woke her at night. 

She knew what it was to struggle with the darkness of a past you’d rather forget. Sometimes, Inej even thought that no amount of time or vengeance would ever fully separate her from it. 

As if this pain had been sewn and soldered right into the very marrow of her bones.

And now, Kaz’s nearness was toeing the line between the brand of closeness they were familiar with and something much more dangerous. Something she didn’t think either of them could handle. 

All either of them need do was lean forward a few inches, or reach out a hand. 

Inej remained frozen, eyeing Kaz warily, even though he made no further moves toward her. Even as his gaze traced her lips, midnight eyes brushing her flushed cheeks in a soft caress, trailing the angle of her jaw down to her neck where her thundering heart surely gave away any pretence of indifference she might still hold.

He smelled like roses and whiskey and myrrh.

“I’m merely doing what you’ve asked,” Kaz responded innocently. “Or, at least, I’m trying to.”

Inej furrowed her brow and the boy before her smirked.

“Would you kindly move your legs so I can get a shirt out of this drawer?” he said, his breath fanning across her face. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about the dress code.”

Inej’s blush was evident now. She couldn’t help herself. Could not so much as think of a response, much less a witty retort. 

It was all she could do to hold Kaz’s unwavering gaze as she tucked her legs to her chest. 

He opened the second drawer from the top, pulling out a button-up of the same ilk as the pyjama bottoms he wore, and shrugged it on. Then, he sat down in the large swivelling chair at the desk and spun it around to face her.

“Now,” Kaz said, steepling his fingers as if this were indeed a very serious business meeting, and he was indeed not very tipsy. “You were proposing.”

**♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> And a massive thank you to The Serrated Spades - 6crowgang, fishmaid, corpsecro, ravenclawsandbeak, shelbychild, something-else-mella789, dregsoftea, flerkenkiddingme, and artbyisambeleza - the team of creators, editors, and beta readers on Tumblr who’ve been working with me these past few months to create something really special for grishaversebigbang !! 
> 
> More chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be on the tag list for future chapter updates, just shoot me a message/ask. I'm slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Tumblr 🖤💫


	3. The Iron Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inej proposes. Kaz is a bit of a dickhead (no surprise there). There will be scheming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I literally have no self-control so here’s another Kanej fluff chapter. I promise we’ll get to the real stuff soon. My bbs just needed/deserved some love (and tbh, so did we). 🖤💫

Inej blinked. 

“Erm— Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. Right. Business. 

She’d thought a lot about what she was going to say. She’d even gone so far as to prepare a speech for this moment. But she now fumbled for its beginning like a tangle of yarn buried deep in a drawer. 

She squared her shoulders and took a long breath. _Focus. It’s just Kaz. This is just business._

“There are a great many things to learn from the sea, Kaz,” she began. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it does not cost nothing to simply exist–and it costs a monstrous deal more to live and live fully.”

There was that face again. The opposite of scheming. 

Kaz’s eyes glinted over the tops of his steepled fingers as he waited. Inej found she was rather enjoying this.

“I have lived fully for the past seventeen months,” she continued. “And though it’s been a worthwhile existence, it has cost me greatly. _The Wraith_ has blessed my crew with many months of home on the waves. But she has suffered countless blows and battles on our hunt for slavers. Try as my crew might to fix her up, I believe she is beyond our unprofessional care. She needs proper refurbishment—new sails, new tackle, new masts.”

Kaz furrowed his brows. “You need a new ship.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but it asked enough.

Inej shook her head. “I like _The Wraith_. She’s sturdy and reliable and damned near the fastest thing on the True Sea. If possible, I’d like to keep her.”

It was Kaz’s turn to blink, but his look of shock was shortly replaced by a smirk of approval. 

“A year and a bit on the ocean and you’re already cursing like a sailor,” he said.

Inej sighed and bit back a smile of her own. She forgot how unused to hearing her swear he must be. “Focus, Kaz.”

“When am I not focused?” His eyes bore into hers, and Inej found herself holding her breath. 

Fair point.

Kaz leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on her. “Well, if it’s just a bit of work you need done on the ship,” he said, “I know a guy. But if it were just a bit of refurbishing you needed, I don’t think you would have bothered coming all the way here.”

The ache tugged in her chest, a desolate siren call. 

“It’s not just refurbishing,” Inej said with a small, sad smile. “I want—I _need_ to refurbish _The Wraith_. But I’d also like to pay my crew a livable wage for the services they provide. To feed them something other than beans for a change.”

“Anything else?”

“Some new boots would be nice.”

“Well, now you’re asking too much.”

She gave Kaz a long look, even as the corners of her mouth tugged up. He returned the grin in kind.

“But I can’t do all that,” Inej pressed on. “Not all at once. Not with the money that’s left.”

It was strange. She’d always thought she’d be able to live forever off her share of the money they’d glommed from the Merchant Council. At the time, it had seemed like so much. 

Especially after everything Kaz had done, everything he’d taken care of. For her.

He’d paid off her indenture, reunited her with her family, and bought her a boat so she could chase her dreams to the most distant shores. Her heart still gave a smarting twist sometimes, thinking of everything he’d given. 

The gift she was sure he didn’t realise he was to her. 

For the first time in her life, she had been truly free—limitless. So of course, she’d set up a bank account in her parents’ names and deposited a large sum of her share so they would never need worry. 

The rest went toward maintaining her ship and paying her crew. She’d tried to make the money last as long as possible. They’d eaten nothing but potatoes in every conceivable form for months. And when the fresh supplies had run out, they’d started on the dried beans and fermented cabbage.

As it turned out, hunting slavers did not pay well. It didn’t pay at all, actually. 

Inej had quickly learned that the money slavers _did_ make was either too quickly spent to be looted by her crew after they’d ambushed a ship of them on the open waters, or was dealt with and kept securely on land.

And now, Inej was left with a much thinner cushion of _kruge_ than she cared to think on for too long.

“If it’s money you need, Inej,” Kaz said. “You need only ask.”

“It’s not money I need,” she said, then gave him an apologetic look. “Not _your_ money, at least.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong with my money?”

“You’ve given me more than enough already, Kaz,” she said quietly, eyes lowering to her calloused hands. “I already owe you a great deal as is.”

“You don’t owe me _anything_ , Inej.” His tone was sharp as a honed blade and so wholly sober that it made her peer up at his face again. He watched her with cold determination and eyes of glittering obsidian. 

Her smile was rueful and small as she said, “My gratitude, then. By way of friendship.”

At this, Kaz’s eyes softened. 

Kaz had never been good at friends. Inej was fairly sure their heisting days with the Crows a lifetime ago was the first time Kaz had allowed himself to think of anyone as his friend in earnest. 

“I’d like that,” he said. There was a soft vulnerability in his voice that took her by surprise. 

Kaz Brekker never did anything softly. 

She didn’t let that thought show on her face, however. “Me too,” she told him. Then, she huffed a sigh. “Even so, I can’t take your money.”

Kaz frowned. “Why not?”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” she said, lips quirking up. “I’ve made a name for myself.”

“So I’ve heard,” he mused. “Inej Ghafa, Slaughterer of Slavers.” 

There was a hint of pride in his voice as her newly minted title rolled off his tongue.

“Then you’ll understand that as generous as your offer is, I can’t rely on anyone financially. I cannot be beholden to anyone but myself. Ever again.”

Kaz nodded once in understanding. “Of course,” he said. “You have a reputation to uphold, it seems.”

“Exactly.”

“So if it’s not money you need,” he mused. “What is it you want, Inej?”

“I want you,” she said, and her heart stumbled, her head spinning and scrambling with the weight of her slipped words. “Your _help_ , that is.” 

She very nearly cringed. If she was not a tomato before, she was surely one now.

Grinning, Kaz leaned back in his chair and waved a hand through the air with a dramatic flourish. “I’m at your service.”

This made Inej pause. She lifted her brows pointedly at him. “You don’t even know what it is I need your help for.”

“Yes,” he said simply, holding her gaze. Then, after a beat, “I thought we were friends. Is this not what friends do?”

“We are. It is,” she blurted. Too hurriedly. 

“So, I’ll help.”

“What— no careful consideration of every possible outcome? No overbearing Kaz Brekker scheming?”

He gasped in a dramatic fashion worthy of the stage. “I am not _overbearing!_ ”

Inej just fixed him with a long look. He was either taking lessons from Jesper or he was indeed still half-seas over.

“Inej, darling,” Kaz drawled. “I don’t spend most of my nights getting drunk in the bath because it is fun or particularly important. Helping you would be by far the most diverting thing to happen in weeks.”

Now, she eyed him incredulously. “So you’re helping me for your own amusement.” 

“Mostly. Besides,” he said, looking at her from under hooded lids, “This is _your_ scheme. Far be it from me to interfere with whatever it is you have planned. I trust you.”

“Because we’re friends.”

“The best,” he said, and gave her a winning smile.

It was so unlike Kaz to relinquish control like this. Even if they were friends, even if he did want to help her, even if he was bored out of his mind–she would have at least expected Kaz to relish in the opportunity of helping her puzzle together a plan.

Instead, he was letting her take the reins. 

Unconvinced, Inej narrowed her eyes at him. “What if I said I needed your help fishing my hat out of the Kraken’s stomach?” she asked, leaning forward on the dresser. 

A challenge.

“Then I’d say,” Kaz said, mimicking her movement, his elbows coming to rest on his knees, “Tie a rope to my belt and I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Inej considered him for a moment, appraising the man before her. His eyes, all fixed on her and black as the night between stars, swam with something like death or hope. 

It made her heart flutter. 

But she merely leaned back, placated for now at least, and said, “My, my, Kaz. You must be very bored to be so desperate for something to do.”

“Are you saying I can’t help a friend in her time of need? Out of the goodness of my own heart?” Kaz asked in feigned offence.

“Are you saying you have goodness in your heart?”

His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Let’s not be hasty now, Inej.”

She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “So you’ll help?”

“Of course.” Kaz shrugged. “Though, knowing a bit about what I’m helping with might ease my mind. And my back.”

Inej frowned. “What happened to your back?”

“It gets tense when people scheme without me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Poor King of the Barrel.”

He barked a laugh. “I may be King of the Barrel, but I can assure you I am not poor.”

“Alright, smart ass,” Inej grumbled. “No need to boast. There are those of us who are presently in times of great need.”

For a moment Kaz’s face beheld genuine bewilderment. Then, he looked ready to burst into fits of laughter. But he staved it down for a smug mask instead. 

“Why, Inej, my darling treasure,” he hummed, “I do believe that was a joke, an insult, _and_ a curse in one fell swoop.”

Inej, having let her well-practised tactics slip away from her with every passing minute in Kaz’s bedroom, blushed. Profusely. 

She hated him for it.

“I won’t tell the saints,” he whispered conspiratorially with a wink. “Promise.” 

She was sure her cheeks had been set ablaze. 

Stupid. How very stupid it was for _her_ to be the one embarrassed when it was _he_ who was drunk and flirtatious and talking business in silk pyjamas.

“Alright,” Inej griped, scowling at the self-satisfied grin on his face. “Enough of your brazen raillery.” Then, leaning forward again to fix Kaz with a glare, she said, “Do you want me to tell you the plan or do you intend on flirting yourself into oblivion instead?”

Kaz wisely covered his ensuing laugh with a cough and made a half-hearted attempt at arranging his face into seriousness. He crossed one leg over the other. “I’m listening.”

“Good,” she said, steeling her spine. “Now, lucky for you I have a solution to both of our predicaments. My lack of funds and your lack of… stimulation.” She gave him a smile that suggested she knew _exactly_ what she was saying. Kaz’s mouth popped open, but before he could say anything in his own defence, she barreled on, “Have you heard of something called the Iron Debt?”

He frowned. “The name rings a bell, but I can’t say I recall—”

“It’s a lost treasure,” Inej cut in. “Long ago, in a time out of mind, the founding fathers of a secret organisation buried a treasure deep within the world. This organisation was a guild of merchants who made and sold impossible artefacts of great power and fortune. They called themselves The Founders.”

Kaz nodded. “Them, I’ve heard of.”

“Then you’ll know they still exist today,” Inej said. “Hidden in the unsearched cracks of society—unknown to those who haven’t a care to look, and lost to those who don’t look hard enough. Rumour has it, their treasure, the treasure left behind by the founding fathers, remains lost as well.”

Another frown puckered his face. “So you want to… put yourself up for the job? Find it for them?”

“Come now, Kaz,” Inej said, levelling him a look. “What happened to that genius criminal mind of yours?”

“It’s currently intoxicated,” he deadpanned. “Give me a minute.”

“No, Kaz,” she said with a sigh. “We’re not going to find it for them. We’re going to find it _first_.”

A slow smile slipped across his face. “I like the way you think.”

“Oh? And what way is that?”

“Like a pirate.”

When Inej beamed at him then, Kaz looked for all the world like he’d been blinded by the sun. 

“Well, then,” she said, smoothing her hands down her leggings, “A pirate and a veritable King of the Barrel. Undoubtedly the most ferocious team the world has ever seen.”

“Indeed,” he said, and rising from the desk chair, he wended his way back into the bathroom. 

Inej’s face wrinkled in confusion as she peered after him—a hard thing to accomplish from atop a dresser. A fact she found truth in when she nearly toppled to the floor. 

There was shuffling and clinking behind the bathroom door. 

Just when Inej thought she might need to check on him, Kaz emerged again with two teacups and the bottle of very old whiskey he’d been busy making a sizable dent in when she’d arrived. The price of said whiskey, she was sure, could ostensibly pay her way for a good week or two.

“So how exactly do you plan on finding this long lost treasure first?” Kaz asked, setting the teacups down on the desk. 

Only then did she notice the cups were lime green and pink and dotted with teddy bears. Inej wondered how in the Saint’s holy realm these teacups had ended up in the filthy hands of Kaz Brekker, self-proclaimed Bastard of the Barrel.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Inej said flatly. 

In truth, she did have a vague idea. She was just too much of a coward to admit what exactly that idea was until she was sure she had the facts right. If this was her job, she was going to execute it professionally.

Kaz seemed to read her thoughts because he gave her a knowing look as he poured a finger of amber liquid into each cup. A look which suggested he was waiting for her real answer.

“Fine,” she breathed, “I do have _some_ leads. Leads which I’ll tell you about as soon as we’ve assembled a team.”

“Ah,” he said, extending a cup towards her. “There will be others.”

Inej took the cup from his hand and tried not to leap from her own skin when his fingers grazed her wrist. Gooseflesh rose in his wake. Then, Inej smiled. 

“As formidable a team as we two doubtless make,” she said, “I’m thinking we might need more help on our side.”

“I think,” he said, taking up a place leaning casually against the desk, “That would be very wise. What about your crew?”

“Oh they’ll be keen, I’m sure,” she said. “But I was thinking more specifically. We’ll need people with certain talents. People we can trust.”

Kaz caught on quickly. “You want to get the Crows back together.”

“Do you think it wise?” she asked, attempting to hide her hopefulness by looking down at the whiskey she now swirled in the bottom of her cup. 

She wanted this. Badly. 

Of course, she hadn’t fooled herself into believing it would be just like old times. Inej knew everything was different now. So much had changed. But the fact of the matter was, Inej didn’t miss this place so much as she missed the people she’d come to care for here. And she wanted to think they missed her, too. 

So she waited with bated breath for Kaz’s response.

“I think you are very wise, Inej,” was all he said.

Her eyes snapped up. “Don’t butter me up, Kaz,” she said, setting her teacup down on the dresser. “And don’t sugar coat it, either.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “I think it might prove… difficult, roping them into a grand scheme like this.”

“How come?”

“Well, for starters,” Kaz said, placing his cup on the desk and folding his arms across his chest, “Matthias is dead.”

Inej’s jaw dropped. 

He’d said it as if it were an innocuous comment. As inconsequential as mentioning the weather outside. If she was honest with herself, she almost laughed from the sheer shock of it. 

“I thought you said not to sugar coat it,” Kaz said when Inej, still staring at him dumbfounded, floundered hopelessly for words. 

“I meant in terms of straight answers, you incredible _arse_.” Inej glared, ignoring the way his lips quirked up at the corners when she cursed. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m well aware of Matthias’s whereabouts, Saints rest his soul.”

There was a pause in which Inej refused to look at him. 

She stared at the soot stain in the carpet again and thought she might be better friends with _it_ at that moment than she was with the man who thought making quips at their deceased friend’s expense was a smart thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” Kaz said, and when she looked at him she thought he looked genuine. Though it could have been a trick of the light. “Look, Matthias is gone, Nina left, Kuweii is… gods only know where. Which leaves Jesper and Wylan, and they’re… well, they’re—”

Her heart sank to her stomach. “Saints, Kaz,” Inej breathed, trying not to panic. “What happened to Jesper and Wylan?”

Kaz gave her a bemused look. “They’re happy, Inej,” he said quietly.

Silence settled, heavy in the air between them. 

Inej didn’t know why. Part of her was awash with relief that nothing truly devastating had happened to her two dear friends. The exact opposite, in fact. And she should be happy for them. She _was_ happy for them. They deserved the love they’d found in each other.

But there was a second part to Kaz’s statement, an unspoken part, that tinged the silence with something like sadness. 

_They don’t need us anymore,_ the silence said.

And a thought occurred to her—that Kaz had been living with this fact for much longer than he would probably ever admit. 

That thought alone broke Inej’s heart a little.

“Oh,” was all she could muster. “Thank the Saints for that.”

“We can ask,” Kaz murmured. “But I doubt they’ll agree to join us. Wylan has the business and Jesper won’t want to leave Wylan alone for so long.”

Inej nodded. “I understand,” she said. “We’ll ask. And if they say no, we’ll assemble a new team.” 

“I have a few people in mind,” he offered.

“Yeah?” She inclined her head. “Like who?”

“Jensen.”

“Jensen?”

“Mhmm.”

Inej narrowed her eyes, going to no great lengths to hide her suspicion. “I’ve never heard you mention a Jensen before.”

“Really? Must’ve met him while you were off being noble.”

“Huh,” she said, ignoring his jab. “And who _is_ this Jensen, pray tell?”

“Ferocious thief,” he said. “Quick with his hands. Not bad with a knife, either. Might even give you a run for your money.”

“Doubtful.” Inej smirked. 

Kaz’s eyes glinted in the low light of the room. He was baiting her. She knew it. She supposed that made her a willing fish.

“Why would I hire him when I have you?” she asked. “You’re a ferocious thief. You’re quick with your hands. And I’m devastating with a knife.” Kaz hummed at that, his face full of amusement, which only fed her suspicions. “To be honest, Kaz, this Jensen seems like a redundancy I can’t afford.”

“Oh, you can afford him. He’ll do it for free.”

“No one works for free, Kaz,” she reminded him. “You know that. Not in our line of work. And especially not when the job involves life-threatening situations.”

“Jensen will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” Kaz said, face splitting into—dare she even think it—a shit-eating grin, “Jensen is a monkey.”

“A _monkey?_ ” Inej scoffed. “I thought you said he was a person.”

Kaz shrugged. “Semantics.”

“So you’re telling me a monkey is our best candidate for a new crew?”

Kaz nodded. “He’ll work for butter biscuits.”

Inej groaned and slid a hand down her face as Kaz’s terrible laughter rumbled through the room. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, trying to tamper down her own chuckles. A few escaped her lips despite herself. 

She knew it was a distraction. By some miracle, Kaz must’ve been able to read the tension in her shoulders like lines from a book. And for a moment, as Inej laughed at the absurdity of Jensen the pirating monkey, she’d felt that tension ease. 

It was probably the best kind of disappointment she could ask for at this point. 

“We’ll find a team, Inej,” Kaz assured her, more serious now that he’d collected his dignity off the floor where he’d dropped it. “It might not be with Jesper or Wylan. And it might not be with Jensen.”

“I think that would be wise,” she interceded, a smile ghosting at her lips. 

“We’ll find people.”

“ _People_ ,” Inej clarified. “Not monkeys.”

“Fine,” Kaz sighed in mock regret. “I know of a parrot—”

She gave an incredulous laugh. “No animals, Kaz!”

“Right,” he said, drumming his fingers against the side of the desk. “Can we at least pay Jes and Wylan a visit, and kick their sorry butts at cards before we leave them to their domesticities?”

“That, I might agree to,” she said. 

And suddenly, she was remembering vividly all those nights between shoot-outs and scheming and heisting, when the Crows had gathered around a rickety old table to play cards. 

They’d bet on ridiculous things - like dares or a feathery hat the loser had to wear for a day - because all of them were skint and those things were better than money anyway. 

Usually, it was Poker or Bullshit, but many-a-game of Slap Jack had nearly snapped the table’s legs. There had even been a game of surprisingly competitive Go Fish or two when they’d exhausted all other options. 

Inej delighted at the echo of unmitigated ruthlessness of those games that danced across her mind.

The mischievous gleam in Kaz’s eyes told her he remembered, too. 

And as that gilded memory shimmered in the air between them, Inej felt warmer than she had in months. 

For all of his insufferable jokes and needling sarcasm, she found herself incredibly grateful for her friend, who had subtly reminded her that just because things had changed, it didn’t mean there were not still good times to be had.

“Then it’s agreed,” he said. “We’ll assemble a crew, get some leads, then take Jesper and Wylan for all they’re worth at the tables.”

Inej laughed and lifted her makeshift glass in a toast.

“What shall we toast to, pirate?” he said, lifting his teacup to match her own.

She thought for a moment. There were so many things to be grateful for.

“To very lost treasure,” she decided in the end. “And swindling the swindlers.”

“Pirate, indeed,” Kaz replied. 

Their glasses clinked, and Inej slid slowly into the warm refuge of her glass and the revelry of being home at last.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this fluff chapter because I am Kanej trash and I enjoyed writing it very much. Thank you so much for reading! More (serious) chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be tagged in future updates, just shoot me a message/ask. I am slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Tumblr 🖤💫


	4. Cloak of Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesper Fahey feat. a lot of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I am so sorry.

The Van Eck manor, tucked between the cobbled streets of Ketterdam’s Financial District, stood tall in all its four-story residential glory. 

Amongst the other identical alabaster homes, Jesper Fahey thought it looked like part of a set. Like how porcelain teacups came in sets of six; or how eight white pawns lined up neatly in front of the noble pieces before a game of chess. 

Each house on the street was trimmed with white Corinthian columns and black iron gates. Hedges always even, gardens always pristine. Houses in this part of Ketterdam lined the well-kept streets like dolls on a shelf.

_Dolls on a shelf,_ he thought again with a snort, kicking a loose pebble in front of him.

Even at this young hour of the night, the street was quiet and bore no signs of trouble.

Jesper found the lack of trouble troubling, the silence suffocating. 

Or maybe it was the humidity that had turned his lungs to cotton—better still, his unabating guilt. 

Regardless, it all hung in the sea air like swathes of held breath as he wended his way back from the Crow Club. 

This cosy residential neighbourhood was a stark contrast from the Barrel, which seemed to always burst at the seams with life, a veritable kaleidoscope of colour and sound and motion.

Jesper’s ears rang from the nothingness of the street he now strode. A high, metallic sound needling at his head as he walked home. As if his body rejected such serenity.

He felt like he’d been coated in sugary syrup from a stack of stroopwafels. All the night’s events sticky and clinging to him.

As did the smell of gin and cigar smoke from the club. He couldn’t seem to get the viscid feeling off his skin, and that smell off his red velvet jacket.

The tables had sung to Jesper again tonight. A sweet song he hadn’t heard in months. He’d found it irresistible.

He did so love music. 

It was a shame. He’d been doing well there for a while. He'd been in control. Riding the high of the heist, Jesper didn’t feel the itch as much. 

Of course, it never went away, this itch—not really. But with the heady balm of danger, the intoxicating thrill of taunting death with his pearl-handled revolvers, raging through a hellfire of bullets, the itch had been quietened. 

Jesper always could drown out the siren song of the tables with a good old-fashioned threat to his life.

It was when things settled, however, that was always where the trouble began. And things had been settling for a while now. 

Jesper had tried to keep busy. He had the Dregs. He’d even taken up a few hobbies. But life for the Dregs became easy, his hobbies became plagued with the aftertaste of monotony, and all that control had slipped through his fingers like velvet plumes of smoke. 

Just like that, he was back to square one. Jesper knew it was bad and wrong and the whole reason he felt like he now needed to scrub his skin raw. But he couldn’t help it. 

Three nights ago he’d gone into the Crow Club with a pocket full of _kruge_ , and one split-second decision to sit at the green felted tables had left him drunk and penniless and riddled with shame by the end of the night.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not a soul.

Not Kaz, who hadn’t been around at the Club for the past five nights–gods only knew where he’d been slinking off to so secret-like. Probably somewhere shadier than a forest at twilight so he could marinate in plots of revenge and murder against any poor sod who might’ve done so much as accidentally bump his elbow the night before.

Having said that, Jesper wasn’t entirely sure Kaz even had a soul to begin with, so perhaps, even if he’d had the spine to tell him, Kaz would not count.

He hadn’t told Joh, the manor’s grumpy live-in chef, who made the most delectable pies and pastries, and with whom Jesper hung around when he wasn’t at work. Mainly for the pastries, of course—but also for someone to talk to. Even if that someone only tolerated him because he was romantically entangled with the person responsible for his paycheck.

He hadn’t told Majda, the old Ravkan Grisha healer they’d hired as their live-in maid at Nina’s request. Jesper often confided in Majda. But he could not bring himself to confess to her this. Seeing the disappointment in her grandmother eyes would be too much for him.

Jesper had not even told Wylan, his beautiful, kind, brilliant love—who was, in no uncertain terms, too good for someone as broken as Jesper.

Wylan had been busy taking over his father’s business. They’d swindled everything out of Jan Van Eck, that bastard. Including his lovely home. 

Jesper had moved in as soon as Wylan had asked. The boy had been shy and blushing when he’d finally worked up the nerve. Jesper had just grinned broadly and, taking his partner’s face in his hands, planted a kiss on Wylan’s carnation-pink lips. He swore Wylan had turned the colour of an embarrassed lobster. 

They’d spruced up the place over the following weeks. Despite the manor’s impressive size, they’d managed to turn it into their own cosy corner of the world. Then, Wylan had forged into the world of business, full steam ahead, building upon the foundations of his father’s empire. Unsurprisingly to Jesper, he’d turned it into something shining and marvellous, as only Wylan could. 

And Jesper had only gone and ruined things, as only Jesper could. 

For the third night in a row, Jesper climbed the rain-slick steps of the manor’s front porch with a pounding headache and absolutely no _kruge_ in his pockets. 

He took a deep breath before opening the door. It creaked on its old hinges as he padded over the threshold. Many more nights like this and Jesper would have to remember to oil those down. 

Jesper kicked himself internally. There _wouldn’t_ be any more nights like this. This would be the last. He swore it on his own grave. Although, at this rate, he might be penniless enough not to have one of those either.

The house was as dark and quiet as the rest of the street outside, save for the _creak_ of the hinges, the _click_ of the door as he shut it behind him, the _snick_ of the lock. It was only ten and a half bells, but Jesper hoped against all hope that Wylan was already fast asleep. 

Then Jesper made his way to the kitchen. 

As if in anticipation of the four slices of bread he planned on scarfing down before his head hit the pillows, Jesper’s stomach growled. Loudly.

In that moment, Jesper also heard papers shuffling. He noticed one solitary light glowing in the kitchen. And Wylan—glasses on, wrapped snugly in his dressing robes, sitting at their kitchen table, which was covered in a tablecloth of sketches and blueprints.

Wylan looked up from the papers, lifting a disapproving brow. 

Jesper, frozen in a moment of icy trepidation, was suddenly very unsure of what to do with his hands. 

In that small window of time, Jesper knew Wylan saw right through him. Saw the state he was in, the events of the night playing out before them both like a moving picture they could not tear their eyes away from. He could probably even feel Jesper’s guilt, the very same molasses that coated his skin now seeping onto the sandalwood floors.

Jesper said nothing as he approached the bread box on the counter with caution.

“Where were you?” Wylan’s voice was eerily calm. It made every cell in Jesper’s body cringe. But with his back turned, perhaps he could hide his remorse a moment longer. He heard the gentle scrape of Wylan’s chair against the floor.

“The Club,” Jesper simply said, putting forth great effort to keep his voice even—casual. He reached for a knife and rolled it across his knuckles before taking out a loaf of sourdough. The portrait of ease, though he was indeed far from it. “Egan called in sick again. Had to cover his shift.” 

The lie felt like ash on Jesper’s tongue. He sliced into the bread, trying to ignore the heavy weight of Wylan’s eyes on the back of his neck.

“You didn’t tell me,” Wylan said. “I was worried.”

Jesper cut three slices. His appetite, it seemed, had decided four was too many. Too even. Too much like a set of teacups. 

“Sorry, I forgot to send word.” He turned, holding a piece of bread in his hands, facing Wylan at last. Wylan had deserted his seat at the table. Now leaning against it, arms crossed, he examined Jesper with the kind of scrupulousness that made the sharpshooter fidget. 

Two could play at that game, Jesper decided. As he took a bite of bread, he studied Wylan’s face. 

Drawn and haggard, like he hadn’t seen a day of sun in weeks—this made all the more discernible by the yellow wash of light staining the kitchen gloom. Jesper had half a mind to pump Wylan with every citrus juice they had in their fridge at that very moment.

The boy’s hair was a violent sea of ruddy curls, standing on end and every which way, as if he’d been dragging a ceaseless hand through it. No doubt evidence of all the long hours spent cooped up in that horrible, stuffy office. 

His partner’s eyes were wide and blooming cornflowers. 

_Beautiful_ , Jesper thought on a whim. Though Wylan’s eyes were always beautiful. The thought made it that much harder to lie. 

“I’ll be better next time,” Jesper told him. “Promise.” Lies. His skin crawled with them now, but this did not surprise Jesper. He’d been wearing his lies like a second skin for weeks. He only wished they’d keep him warm. Perhaps he’d fashion himself a cloak.

Wylan shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. “It wouldn’t bother me so much,” he said, “If I believed that’s really what you were doing.”

Instead of defending himself, Jesper tore off another big bite of sourdough. To buy himself more time, yes, but also because he needed to be more sober for this discussion. 

Or perhaps he needed to be more drunk. There must be a bottle of brandy or a vat of cough syrup somewhere in their kitchen…

He needed to say something.

Jesper swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

Wylan speared him a look. “You know what I mean, Jes.”

“No, _Wy._ ” Jesper’s tone was more acidic than he intended. He tried to hide his wince by reaching for another slice of bread on the counter behind him. “I think you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“You come home much later than the end of your shift. You smell like smoke and liquor. What am I supposed to assume?”

“I dunno.” Jesper lifted a shoulder, an unbothered gesture. “That I’ve been working? I can’t help that you don’t like the way my place of employment smells. Would you prefer I get a job at the local candle shop instead?” He tried to sound teasing, tried to make light of the situation. But all he sounded like right now was cruel. 

Jesper found he couldn’t meet the other boy’s piercing glare. So he took another bite of bread. Chewed. Swallowed. It tasted like nothing and felt like gravel scraping down his throat.

“You think this is funny?” Wylan’s jaw clenched. “You think this is some kind of joke?” 

“I think giving up the well-paying job I have now to sell scented candles down at the market would be a joke,” Jesper said. “But if that’s what you want me to—”

“I know Egan isn’t sick.” 

Silence dropped heavy like a stone in water, and rippled for a few beats across the room. Jesper risked a glance at Wylan. The boy’s forehead was creased with concerned crags; he chewed the inside of his cheek like it was a wad of jurda blossoms and he needed to pull an all-nighter.

“You’ve been at the tables, haven’t you?” It wasn’t harsh, this accusation. It was quiet, understanding.

Nonetheless, Jesper’s heart raced, as one’s does when they’ve been caught doing something they’re not meant to be doing. It wasn’t the good kind of adrenaline rush. He felt sick. Jesper opened his mouth, then closed it, fumbling for a response. Any response. 

Finally, Jesper sputtered, “So what—you’re spying on me now?”

“No,” Wylan huffed. “Egan showed up at the office today, keen on working the docks when he’s not at the Club for a bit of extra cash. He was a touch confused when I asked him how he was feeling.”

Jesper’s smile was tight. “Must’ve been Agar’s shift I was covering for, then. Can never keep those two straight.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jesper.”

“Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, Wylan.” 

Wylan flinched. Recoiled like Jesper had slapped him. Wylan stared and stared at Jesper, those eyes no longer fields of cornflowers, but deep, yawning trenches—wounds in the ocean floor. 

“Where exactly is it you reckon I belong, then?” Wylan asked. 

Jesper scoffed. “Not in my business, that’s for sure.”

Wylan’s bottom lip trembled. “You _are_ my business, Jesper.”

Really, this should be an incredibly romantic confession. For the people of Kerch worshipped Ghezen, the god of trade and commerce. They revered all affairs of business. 

And since Wylan was Kerch, saying Jesper was his business was, for all intents and purposes, rather like saying Jesper was his religion.

The joke was on the tip of Jesper’s tongue, but he stopped himself. Wylan looked neither amorous nor in the mood for witticisms. He looked rather ready to nail Jesper’s balls to the wall. 

_Understandable_ , Jesper thought. For all the shame he felt, Jesper might let Wylan do just that without so much as a complaint. But it was much easier to be angry than to accept the sympathy he didn’t think he deserved.

“Really?” Jesper railed instead. “I’d rather thought I was your side hustle. Since you’re only ever around when you need something from me.” 

Horrible. That’s what Jesper was. Horrible, stinking, rotten—

“You’re not my side _anything!_ ” Wylan’s voice broke on that last word, and Jesper’s heart followed suit at the sound.“Look,” his partner said, “I know I’ve been busy, but I can change that. I’ll take time off work. I’ll work from home. I’ll— let me help you, Jesper.”

The former demolitionist took a step forward, reaching out an arm as if to comfort him, then retracting it, as if touching Jesper right now would be just as disappointing as seeing him this way. Jesper could not say he blamed him. 

Wylan sighed, his arm dropping to his side. He raked his hand through his hair for probably the umpteenth time that night. His voice came out barely above a whisper when he said, “I want to help. I deserve to be able to help you when you need it.”

He was right. Jesper knew he was right. 

_Say it_ , something in his mind begged. _Tell him he’s right and you’re sorry._

But Jesper only frowned, shoving the thought aside. 

Because Jesper wasn’t just sorry. He was wrong. In every way—wrong and broken and no good. And very morose, apparently. 

All Jesper could think was that Wylan deserved everything, and Jesper could hardly offer him anything. 

“Well?” Wylan interrupted his spiralling train of thought. “Say something.”

Jesper threw his hands in the air. “What do you want me to say, Wylan?” he strained. “That I love coming home to this big, empty house on this big, empty street? That I love our ten-minute inane conversations at the start and end of every day? ‘How was your day, honey?’ ‘Oh, mine was swell. How was yours, sweetheart?’ ‘Mine was swell too, thank you for asking’. The same thing, over and over again. It’s all so… so—”

“So _what?_ ”

“So boring!”

The look that crossed Wylan’s face was somewhere between devastation and bewilderment. Jesper wanted to gobble the words back up quicker than a trough of waffles.

“You’re… bored? I thought you liked it here.”

He did. Jesper more than liked it. He loved being wherever Wylan was, really. But here in this cookie-cutter neighbourhood, with all its soft pastels and even numbers, Jesper was always the seventh teacup in the set of six. 

No, scratch that. He wasn’t even a teacup. He was a godsdamned gilded tankard with a ruby-encrusted handle, debauching the dainty tea party with his gaudiness, staining the lace doilies with his red wine.

Not that he minded this, of course. He hardly noticed how not-very-much-at-all he blended in. If it made him happy to do so, Jesper would wear lime green and tangerine through these streets of beige and white without apology. 

Drunk and full of shame and feeling the full weight of the other boy’s disappointment heavy on his shoulders, though, it was very easy for Jesper to pin the blame on this new life they’d been living. 

An easy explanation for something that was so very hard to explain. It was the reason people would expect. And people always expected a reason for failure. It would be easier this way.

The easy thing to say and the true thing were often not the same, however. Admitting you did not know the reason for something was always harder than spinning a fabric of truth with threads of white lies to explain it away. 

Jesper did not know what his reason was. He did not know why he’d gone back to the tables, why he’d failed so miserably. He hadn’t been able to confront it these past three nights. 

But he knew the reason wasn’t Wylan. He knew it hadn’t anything to do with him or their life together.

_Say it._

Jesper hated that he snorted. He hated that he said, “That’s like asking if I enjoy endlessly banging my head against a wall.”

He could feel Wylan’s hurt like a punch to his own stomach from across the room. It left him winded. And because Jesper was the worst kind of coward, he didn’t meet Wylan’s eyes. 

Instead, he focused on the lapels of Wylan’s dressing gown, which Jesper had once compared to dirty meringues because they were grey and poofy. The comparison, when he’d first made it, had made Wylan laugh, and he’d told Jesper to go get something to eat before he started gnawing on his very expensive robe. 

Jesper had scoffed and told him he would never stoop so low as to eat dirty meringues, or ruin a good cashmere garment for that matter. But the boy had merely laughed harder, then reminded Jesper of the time he’d dropped a whole plate of lasagna and shamelessly licked the floor clean all the same. 

It had taken Jesper a moment to respond because he’d been beguiled when he looked at Wylan–all pink in the cheeks and giggling at the memory. 

And when Wylan had asked what Jesper was staring at, Jesper had responded, “Your stupid face.”

Wylan had snatched a pillow from the pile on their bed and chucked it at him, probably to keep Jesper from seeing his raging blush. But Jesper saw, and he’d known then. That he was in love with Wylan.

Jesper shook his head of the reverie. 

Wylan was looking down at his perpetually ink-stained hands now. After a moment, he said, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Yeah, well.” Nausea curdled Jesper’s stomach. “What did you expect?”

“Do you want to move out?”

Jesper’s eyes snapped up. 

Wylan’s jaw set, his spine steeled, and he looked down his nose at Jesper the same way every pompous prick in this neighbourhood looked at him. Usually, Jesper relished the way they sniffled. Laughed at it, even. Except Jesper didn’t feel much like laughing now. He didn’t relish the way Wylan looked at him like this. 

“Do you want me to move out?” Jesper asked, a pit sinking in his stomach.

“Well, you don’t like it here,” Wylan reasoned. “You don’t like this house or this neighbourhood. You said you’re bored by it and by me. You won’t let me help you, and personally, I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself.” Wylan crossed his arms. “So I don’t see why you should stay.”

“You’re kicking me out.” It was almost a question, but it came out like a challenge. Like a dare Jesper nearly wished he would take. “Because of _one_ night at the tables?”

“ _Three_ nights, Jesper,” Wylan said. “And that’s not the point. I don’t care how many nights it’s been. I offered you help. I _want_ to help, and you—”

“I don’t _need_ your help,” Jesper growled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.” Wylan was nearly shouting now. “You’re lying to me and you’re lying to yourself and you know it.”

“I can handle myself, thanks.”

“Clearly,” Wylan scoffed, his tone drenched in sarcasm. “How much money did you lose tonight, Jesper?”

“Why does it matter? We’ve got loads of money.”

“We’ve got loads _now_. What happens after that runs out? You suppose I’ll support your spending habits with my business? Because I won’t. And then what? We might have Barrel Bosses kicking our doors in and breaking our legs for the money you owe.”

“I’ve only been at the Crow Club,” Jesper groused. “Kaz would never do that.”

At this, Wylan Van Sunshine barked a sardonic laugh. “ _Kaz Brekker?_ You don’t think _Kaz Brekker_ , otherwise known as _Dirtyhands_ , would break our legs for your debts? You do remember he once ripped out a man’s eyeball with his bare hands, don’t you?”

“Pretty sure he had his gloves on when he did that,” Jesper mumbled.

Wylan ignored him. “I suppose you think you could take him, then?” 

“I’d be willing to bet on myself.” Jesper shrugged. Lies, so many lies. He might as well be licking the hearth for the way his mouth tasted.

“You sure about that?” Wylan sneered. “Because you don’t exactly have the best track record for betting on the winning horse.” 

Jesper blinked. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel offended by the jab. He was tempted to let the boy continue. He’d never gotten this much lip from Wylan, and he was curious to see what else he could stir up.

There was definitely something not right with Jesper.

Wylan barreled on, “In fact, _I’d_ be willing to bet Kaz would break your legs just for going back to the tables. He’d break mine, too, for letting you.” 

Then, a look of realisation struck Wylan’s face, and he gasped. “He doesn’t know.”

“ _No one_ knows,” Jesper said with a scowl. “Apart from meddling meddlers like yourself.”

“Fine,” Wylan said, gathering the papers still spread out on the table into an organized stack. “I won’t meddle. I won’t even tell Kaz if you don’t want me to. Just don’t burden me with your inevitable slew of debt collectors.”

Jesper felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. By an ox or a very strong mule. He could barely muster the breath to say, “So that’s it then? You’re kicking me out because I’m a burden.”

Wylan tapped the stack of parchment against the table twice to even the edges, then pocketed his glasses in his dressing gown. “Do what you want Jesper. I’m going to bed.”

“And I supposed I’m not welcome there anymore, am I? Because I’m kicked out. Because I’m a burden.”

Wylan fixed him with a look. “Spare me, Jesper,” he said, and promptly quit the room.

Jesper stalked after him into the foyer. But as Wylan turned to take the stairs up to their room, Jesper ripped the front door open. 

“Fine,” he threw over his shoulder at the other boy. “I’m going to find something more interesting to do.”

The last thing Jesper saw before he slammed the door behind him was Wylan’s figure, back turned and shoulders slumped, paused halfway up the stairs.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

There was no longer a sticky, syrupy feeling on Jesper’s skin as he stomped back down the deserted residential street towards the Barrel. Now, the feeling was more like he’d rolled around in an ant pile whilst covered in syrup. 

Which was decidedly the worse of the two, if he had to choose.

There was also a roaring in Jesper’s ears, and he couldn’t decide if this was better than the tinny ringing, or so _so_ much worse. He would have much preferred both the ringing _and_ the roaring, however, over what now rattled through his head.

_You’ve been at the tables, haven’t you?_

_Let me help you, Jesper._

_Don’t lie to me, Jesper._

_I thought you liked it here._

_I don’t see why you should stay._

_You’re lying._

_Fine. Do what you want._

_Just don’t burden me._

_Just don’t burden me._

_Just don’t burden me._

Wylan’s voice clanged through him, a cacophony of his worst nightmares come to life, manifested in a vicious wheel of jagged teeth circling his head like a drain. 

Jesper had no one to blame but himself. Wylan had merely said what Jesper had pushed him to say, the things Jesper already knew to be true. 

All the same, it didn’t hurt any less hearing them.

Jesper should bang his head against the wall to quiet his thoughts. Jesper should go back to the Crow Club and show Wylan just how much of a burden he could truly be. But that had to be his most stupid idea yet. 

_You know who isn’t stupid?_ Jesper thought. _Kaz._

He hadn’t seen Kaz in a while. He’d been too busy trying not to fail, trying to be good enough for Wylan. But Kaz was not good, so Jesper needn’t pretend to be around him.

Kaz was also always scheming. He’d give Jesper a job. Maybe then, with a job and danger and two pistols under his belt, Jesper could be better. For Wylan.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! The angst is real and it hurts and all will be righted soon I promise (unless it is very very wronged, in which case I will have a lot more apologising to do). But how bout Wylan laughing sardonically, tho? Because honestly, I think it’s a look. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. More chapters to come soon- if you want to be tagged in future chapter updates, feel free to shoot me a message/ask on Tumblr and I’ll add you to the tag list. I am slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Tumblr 🖤💫


	5. The Woman in Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaz goes in search of a secret meeting location but ends up feeling pretty attacked.

The dawn’s watery light woke him. He never could accomplish the art of sleeping through a morning. When the sun rose, so did Kaz. No matter when he’d managed to drift into unconsciousness the night before.

Last night, sleep had come to him finally at nearly two bells, though this had not been _his_ fault.

The fault lay with a certain sharpshooter, who was now draped over the settee in the corner of the room—long gangly limbs splayed across the grey velvet cushions, arms spilling over the sides, filemot fingers grazing the floor.

Jesper looked at peace, listless even. He drooled onto the rolled arm of the settee, snoring quietly. Kaz didn’t think he’d ever seen Jesper that still.

So he dressed quietly, so as not to wake his friend.

Jesper had burst through the doors of Kaz’s rooms in the Slat at five past twelve bells, a veritable legless lord, spewing some nonsense about “burdens” and “boredom” and “tea sets”.

For all his slurred rambling, Kaz had quickly pieced together that whatever Jesper was upset about, it had something to do with Wylan.

Kaz, however, was completely unequipped to deal with the emotional trials of his friend. Or anyone for that matter. So he’d set aside the papers he’d been perusing, and examined Jesper with a careful look.

The man’s eyes were rimmed with red. His crimson velvet jacket was rumpled, shirt untucked, bowtie askew. He smelled like spiced rum and cigar smoke. And piss. 

Kaz was not the praying type; but if there was anything to make him reconsider that shortcoming of his personality, it was that final pungent smell. He hoped with wild abandon that it was just the lingering results of going for a long walk in the Barrel at this time of night and not a consequence of Jesper’s inebriation.

“What business, Jes?” Kaz had said at last, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

He was new to the occupation of friendship. He was also dreadful at it, he’d quickly found.

“I don’t have any business, Kaz,” Jesper had garbled, making his way to the sofa where he plunked himself down with an exaggerated sigh. “That’s why I’m here. I want a job.”

“You have a job,” Kaz pointed out. “You work for me at the Crow Club. With the Dregs.”

Jesper had scowled petulantly. “Not _that_ kind of job. Nothing happens at the Club. The Dregs have been sitting pretty for weeks.”

This, Kaz had thought, was too true. He’d thought the same himself just two nights prior.

Before a certain pirate had shown up and changed all that.

But he wouldn’t let himself hope that Jesper was in want of the kind of job that Inej could give him—on their crew, which would set sail on a quest to find lost treasure in just a few days’ time.

“What kind of job would you like, then?” Kaz had asked warily.

“Just… a job. _Any_ job.” Jesper dragged a hand over his face. “Something that will keep me busy.”

“Does the Club not keep you busy?”

“ _The Club_ is what got me into this mess.”

“What mess, Jesper?”

“Stupid Club. Stupid tables. Stupid _stupid_.” This was the only response Jesper had given, clearly too distraught and intoxicated to explain further.

But stupid, Kaz was not.

The tables. Jesper had been at the tables again.

Once an old haunt for his friend, gambling had quickly turned from bad habit to costly compulsion. Kaz had thought Jesper had kicked it. After the Ice Court heist, he thought his friend was straight as arrows in the only way Jesper could be.

But apparently, Kaz had been wrong.

He should be furious. He should make Jesper work overtime on door duty, or as a lookout for the Dregs. Kaz knew the restless sharpshooter would hate either task.

Better yet, he should tell Jesper to take a leave of absence for a few weeks to sort himself out. This brand of discipline would surely save the Club from any repercussions.

But Kaz knew neither punishing Jesper nor forcing him into isolation would solve matters. In fact, it was rather like placing a dirty rag over a knife wound; it would surely stop the mess from spreading, but infection might seize hold and only make everything worse.

Loathe as Kaz was to admit it, he couldn’t help but feel some sense of responsibility for Jesper’s most recent slip.

It was _his_ Club. _Kaz_ was the one who put Jesper on the floor thinking he could handle himself. And he hadn’t even noticed Jesper’s struggles.

He’d been too busy feeling sorry for himself, drinking whiskey from a teacup.

Guilt, he’d decided, was a strange feeling. He’d revelled in it, let it gnaw at him, for all of five seconds before turning to Jesper.

“Lucky for you,” he’d said evenly, “I may have just the thing.”

Jesper listened intently as Kaz described Inej’s plan to hunt down a treasure lost to time. The sharpshooter had immediately agreed to be part of their crew and promptly passed out on Kaz’s sofa.

Now, dressed for the day, Kaz slipped out of his rooms at six and a quarter bells, leaving his friend to rest.

There was work to be done.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

The streets of Ketterdam blinked bleary-eyed at Kaz as he emerged from the Slat. The city was just stumbling out of its slumber.

He was already halfway up the East Stave when the sun finally peaked over the skyline, gilding the buildings of the Barrel in the only gold it had ever known.

Kaz hadn’t bothered to leave Jesper a note for three reasons.

The first was that he was sure Jesper knew of their limited time to sort out any loose-ended affairs. He’d know Kaz would likely be preparing for their imminent departure, so taking the time to write a note had seemed, to Kaz, the worst kind of redundancy.

The second reason was that Kaz would likely be back in the Slat before Jesper opened even one tired eye. He was quite confident in his friend’s ability to sleep through a shootout on the gabled roofs of their street if he put his mind to it.

The final reason was that Kaz simply forgot.

Notes were a thing people wrote when they cared about each other. To let each other know they were well, or where they’d gone off to so early in the morning.

Kaz cared for so few people, the thought had hardly crossed his mind until he was deep into the maze of streets.

_Clack, step. Clack, step._

The sound of his cane clacking against cobblestone was a bolstering one. It was a sound of ordering thoughts, a steady second heartbeat by which he walked.

_Clack, step. Clack, step._

He’d written Inej notes, Kaz thought errantly. Though they were more letters than notes. Inej and Kaz had indeed exchanged a string of letters during her time away.

Every time a small purple envelope made its way to his desk, Kaz had felt about ready to either jump from his own skin or vomit all over the floor. Neither were pleasant sensations, but he endured them all the same.

They were both, however, very much like the feelings he’d had when she’d showed up unannounced in his bathroom two nights ago.

They’d decided on five things during their very serious business meeting:

  1. They needed an Inside Man. Someone who was knowledgeable about secret societies—particularly The Founders and their lost Iron Debt—who could help fill in the gaps of their own knowledge.
  2. They needed someone who could create a distraction on a moment’s notice.
  3. They needed someone who could disguise themselves as an expert inventor.
  4. They needed verifiable leads on where to find the treasure, or a map of some kind if there was such a thing.
  5. They needed a place for their crew to meet in secret to plan and review their schemes over the next few days without risk of being overheard.



Kaz had just the place for the last item on the list.

It was a small secret of Ketterdam, tucked away in the abandoned shipyard off Fifth Harbor. He’d found it some months ago when he’d been in desperate need of refuge, a quiet place he could come and hear his own thoughts without being sought out by every other person who passed him by.

He was headed there now, to make sure it was still as abandoned as when he’d last used it three weeks ago—and that the Tidemakers were still keeping up their end of the deal he’d made with them to keep the place dry.

_Clack, step. Clack, step._

He was cutting through a deserted alleyway about a five-minute walk from his destination when he heard the _snick_ of a knife.

Kaz stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh, I’d strongly advise against that,” he said, in the menacing kind of quiet that usually sent pickpockets running.

Indeed, a scuffle of boots sounded from behind him.

But then, to Kaz’s utter surprise, an unyielding blade pressed at his back. A strong hand gripped his upper arm.

“I don’t need your advice,” a low lilting female voice said in his ear. “I have you at knifepoint.”

Kaz would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so impressed with the woman’s confidence. Or perhaps it was sheer audacity.

He was Bastard of the Barrel, after all.

In one swift motion, he whirled out of the woman’s grasp, facing her with pistol in hand.

“Yes, and I have you at gunpoint,” he said. “Shall we call it a draw, or start placing bets on which one of us will make it out alive?”

Kaz met the woman’s eyes, which were just as sharp as the dagger she held.

She was surprisingly short, but it became apparent to Kaz at once that height was the only lacking thing about her.

A commotion of untamed curls rioted from her head like black flames licking the sky. The blade still wielded steadily before her, she held a warrior’s stance as firmly and demanding as her gaze.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” she said in a voice like honed steel.

Kaz examined her closer.

There was colour in her cattail cheeks, and she filled out the yellow tailored tunic she wore. Two rings, turned toward the inside of her hands so as not to attract unwanted attention, glinted on her fingers. One, a silver octopus curling its tentacles around her knuckle; the other, an emerald-encrusted spade.

“No,” he said, finally. “I suppose you’re not. And it won’t be money either, I reckon.”

The woman blinked, the first breach of her bravado. “H-how could you know that?”

“Intuition.” Kaz shrugged. “Experience. I know what hungry and desperate looks like. You’re definitely not that. Not for food, at least. But I wonder… What made you track me down? Accosting Barrel Bosses in dark alleyways is very risky business, you know.”

“Don’t patronize me,” the woman snarled. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Oh, fantastic,” he said. “So you’ll tell me what it is you want from me, I’ll most likely tell you no, and we can both be on our merry ways unscathed.”

A breeze ruffled the woman’s hair, as she said quietly, “You haven’t even heard what it is I want.”

“You’re not trying to kill me, you’re not looking for money or a job,” Kaz said. “Which means you’re looking for something. Or someone. You thought you’d come to me because I am Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel. I know and see all in this town. But let me tell you this: the only reason I know and see all is that I either gather the information myself or hire people to do it for me.

“Well kept secrets are invaluable to my job, and I do not trade them for something so temporary as money. Nor do I hand them over willingly to people who threaten me with a blade. So go ahead and ask. Unless you have something equally as valuable to offer in return, I know what my answer will be.”

For a moment, the woman said nothing. She stared and stared at Kaz, head cocked slightly to the side, assessing her options.

He had to admit, the weight of her stare made him feel the closest to squirming he’d ever been—apart from every time Inej even glanced his way, of course.

It was unnerving. The woman looked at him like she could see right through him. Like she could read him and had determined that he was nothing.

“You think this some kind of a whim,” she said, at last, grip tightening around the hilt of her blade. “You think me in over my head. That I am too ambitious, too naive to realize what a risk cornering you would be. You underestimate me, Mr. Brekker.”

Kaz considered her once more. Considered that he was holding a long-range weapon against her, a weapon which could kill her before she moved even one step—and she, with only a switchblade to defend herself, was unflinching.

“That may very well be,” he muttered, holstering his gun and removing his pocket watch from the lining of his coat. “Alright, then. I’m willing to hear you for three minutes and not a second more. So prove me wrong.”

The woman nodded once. Squaring her shoulders, she began, “I will tell you, Mr. Brekker, that I am nothing if not thorough. And I have done my homework on you. People like me, you see. I know you’re not all too familiar with that notion, but let me explain it to you. People like me because they trust me. Something about my face, I think. And because people trust me, when I am nice to them, they tell me things. No one thinks twice when a girl starts asking questions. Because what harm could possibly come from a girl?”

Kaz smirked. “In my experience, a fair amount.”

“You’d be the first of many to think so.”

“That’s because I’m not stupid, as most people are.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “You have two minutes.”

“In the weeks since I first started studying you,” the woman continued, “I have learned many things. Including that you and Inej Ghafa plan to leave Ketterdam from 5th Harbor onboard _The Wraith_ at noon in three day’s time in search of the Iron Debt.”

Kaz stilled.

They’d barely told anyone of their plans. Inej had yet to even tell her crew. How had this woman become privy to such closely held information? Worse still, how had this woman been tracking him for what she claimed to be weeks without his knowledge?

Kaz didn’t like it one bit.

“Is that so?” he asked, keeping a careful mask of calm.

“Yes,” she said. “I have also learned that you’ve not had very much success in the way of leads. I feel I can help you with that.”

“Well,” Kaz said, loosing a chuckle, “I’ll hand it to you. Your knowledge regarding our plans is closer to accurate than most would be able to dig up. Right treasure. Right day. Right time. But your location is off.”

The woman shrugged as if being wrong about one part did not bother her in the slightest.

Or perhaps as if she might believe her tip more than she believed him.

Kaz regarded her warily. “What leads do you have to barter?”

“Oh, I have many leads, Mr. Brekker,” she crooned. “I’ll give you the first one as collateral. The rest will come later. To ensure you keep your end of the bargain.”

 _No one works for free, Kaz._ He frowned as he remembered Inej’s words from the other night. “Your asking price?”

“I seek voyage across the seas,” the woman said. “And vengeance on someone who is very hard to find.”

The corners of Kaz’s mouth tilted into the start of a grin. “I feel we’ll be able to help you with at least one, if not both of those things.” Then, he paused. “It begs the question, however—how am I to trust the accuracy of your leads?”

“You don’t trust me, Mr. Brekker?”

“You held me at knifepoint by way of greeting,” he reminded her. “I’m fairly certain that’s not usually conducive to gaining another’s trust.”

“No?” The woman cocked her head suggestively. “I’d rather begun to think you trust knife-wielding women most of all.”

He gritted his teeth, shoving hard against the thought that this stranger knew anything of his personal life, his long and tangled history with Inej.

Kaz suddenly wished he had not been so quick to holster his gun.

But the woman merely gave him a sympathetic look, her mouth pressing into a closed-lipped smile.

“You can trust my leads, Mr. Brekker,” she barreled on, “For two reasons. The first being that you have things I want. If my insight leads you astray, you would be free from your end of the deal.”

“Meaning,” Kaz said, examining his nails. “You’d be walking the plank.”

“Walk the plank,” she said, “Tie me up and dump me over the side. Feed me to the Kelpies, for all I care.”

Kaz bit back a smile.

If anything, the woman was proving to be the most self-assured person he’d ever met. For Kaz knew he would not hesitate to leave her in _The Wraith’s_ wake with nothing but a dingy and her dagger.

Somehow, he knew she was probably aware of this sentiment.

“And the second reason?” he asked.

“My leads are never wrong.”

“How can you be so sure?”

The grin the woman gave him then was barbed and wicked. “I can smell lies on men as if they are a perfume.”

He furrowed his brows.

“For instance,” she said, waving a hand toward him, “Not a moment ago, you lied to me. You said I got the location of your departure wrong, but I am never wrong Mr. Brekker. You were planning to leave from 5th Harbor. Whether your bluff was to throw me off or a real consideration for a change of plans is unbeknownst to me. But I do know that you were not telling the truth.”

“You’re a Grisha,” he breathed after a moment.

But even as he said it, Kaz himself could not think of any known Grisha order that could do what she had just described.

As if sensing his confusion, the woman shook her head.

“Related,” she said, “But not Grisha. Mine is a magic more ancient than the Small Science.”

More ancient than the Grishas? Kaz had never heard of such a thing.

Either way, if what this woman was saying was true, she could be useful in more ways than one on their crew. And Ghezen knew they needed more hands on deck.

“The Crow Club,” Kaz said. “Do you know where it is?”

She nodded.

“Be at the back door at half ten bells tonight,” he instructed her. “You may have one weapon of your choice on your person for your own self-defence. Tell no one. Bring no one. We will know if you do. From there, my associate and I will escort you to a second location. Our crew’s meeting spot. You’ll give us your collateral there. If it is accurate, we will offer you voyage to wherever it is you desire to go. Information you seek will be given to you steadily with every accurate lead you give us in turn.”

The woman stuck out her hand between them. “You have yourself a deal, Mr. Brekker.” She grinned.

Kaz gripped her hand with his leather-clad one. “Call me Kaz.”

“Alright, then.” Turning on her heel, the woman said without looking back, “See you at half ten bells, Kaz.”

He nodded. She was halfway down the deserted alley when Kaz called after her, “Who are you?”

The woman paused and turned her head slightly, the profile of her face half-obscured by a riotous black plume of curls.

“I am The Lilia,” she said over her shoulder. And with that, she slid into the slanted shadows of early morning.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you all enjoyed a little OC action. We’ve really only skimmed the surface of The Lilia in this chapter, and I’m so excited for you all to get to know her. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, make sure to comment! They definitely do not go unnoticed by me- reading them and hearing your thoughts brings me so much joy as a writer, so thank you. I work very hard on each and every chapter to make it a pleasurable fic reading experience for you all, and your comments absolutely contribute to my motivation to keep writing (kudos are appreciated, as well).
> 
> If you want to be kept updated on future chapters, shoot me a message/ask on my blog and I’ll add you to the tag list! I am slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Tumblr 🖤💫


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